


(he's a good time) Cowboy Casanova

by justwantedtodance



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Country & Western, F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwantedtodance/pseuds/justwantedtodance
Summary: Country AU based on Carrie Underwood's "Cowboy Casanova." Rebecca Bunch finds out that her boyfriend, Josh Chan, is cheating on her, and she finds herself in a brand new town working at the local bar. She meets the newly arrived Nathaniel Plimpton, and he spells nothing but trouble for her. A "Cowboy Casanova" is the only way she can describe him, but is he more than just that?





	(he's a good time) Cowboy Casanova

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm imagining everyone but Nathaniel with a Tennessee accent, but can we just talk about how CUTE Darryl would be with an accent?! UGH so pure!
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy!

It’s always the sweet ones. Their lips, their eyes (especially the eyes, Rebecca is a sucker for eyes.) It’s always the sweet ones that break her heart the hardest. She is—well, _was_ in love with the supposed man of her dreams, Joshua Felix Chan, until he broke her heart less than 48 hours ago when she came over to his place with wine and a movie, only to find her long-standing arch nemesis, the gorgeous and talented Valencia Perez, straddling Josh on his bed.

What else was she supposed to do other than get the hell out of town? Of course, not before she keys his pretty new Audi, slashes his tires, and smashes the hell out of his windshield.

_Crazy’s when I go off the rails. This is what you’ve done to me._

Which is precisely how she ends up driving about 3 hours away from Nashville (5 with construction, but who’s counting?) and into Sevierville, TN, “Your hometown in the Smokies.” The town prides itself on exactly two things: the half-hour drive from the Smokies and Dolly Parton.

At least moving here would give Rebecca a chance to start over and escape the big city and all its problems, specifically Filipino boy problems, but that’s not why she left. She didn’t run away. She just needs a vacation, a very, _very_ extended vacation.

“So . . . you’re tellin’ me all this, why?” The red-haired woman leans across the table with a speculative look in her eyes.

“Look, ma’am, I can assure you, I don’t mean to stir up any trouble, but I just really need a job. I mean, I left my whole life back in Nashville, and I think it would do me a whole lotta good to just start over. You understand, don’t you?”

The woman pauses for a beat and sees the genuine admission in the young girl’s eyes. She had honest eyes, something she didn’t see around here too often. After pondering for a moment, she assumes a more relaxed position, leaning back slightly in her chair.

“More than you know. Tell you what, Bunch, since you seem like a nice girl with good intent, I’ll offer you a bartending position. We could use some extra help around here, especially on the weekends. Training starts Monday. You in?” Rebecca nearly flies out of her seat in excitement and runs to hug the woman across the table.

“Yes ma’am, of course I am! Thank you so much for this, I promise I won’t let you down, ma’am.” The older woman releases Rebecca from the embrace and looks her in the eyes.

“As much as it impresses me that y’all still have your manners, ‘round here, we keep it casual. Call me Paula.” Rebecca smile grows, as if it couldn’t any more, and she shakes Paula’s hand firmly.

“Well then, Paula, I look forward to working with you. And _you_ can call me Rebecca.”

“Wait!” A voice rings out from the back storage room, and both Rebecca and Paula turn around to find its owner. A man comes running out. “Paula, you started without me?”

“Finished without ya too, Whitefeather. Gotta keep up.” Rebecca shoots a glance between the two of them, and suddenly it clicks.

“Whitefeather, like the name of the bar! You must be the owner. I’m Rebecca Bunch, your newest employee.” She offers her hand to shake, but instead, he pulls her in for a hug.

“It’s so nice to have you, Rebecca. You can call me Darryl, and I do own this bar. It’s been my pride and joy for the last 17 years and counting.” He gives a fond glance around the main area and wanders away to check on a few things before opening. Rebecca and Paula take a seat in two of the barstools to finish up their chat.

“Darryl does own the place, and he sure does a great job at it. Though we both know who wears the pants around here. You can tell, I’m sure.” Rebecca and Paula get a hearty laugh out of that, and they spend the rest of the day before opening learning more about each other, quickly becoming like two long-lost best friends.

* * *

Across the country, one Nathaniel Plimpton sits on the floor of his office with his head cradled in his hands, willing the panic in his mind to recede. His father is supposed to pay him a visit within the week, and he knows he could pop in at any moment, including this one. His father can’t see him this way; Nathaniel stands and straightens his tie just in time for his father to open the door.

“Nathaniel.”

“Father.”

They stand in silence for a moment as his father examines every millimeter of the room in search of the Plimpton Perfection he expects of his only son.

“You’re looking well,” his father remarks coldly. Suddenly, his father’s eyes land on a spot on the wall just above Nathaniel’s head. “What’s that on your board, son?” His father’s finger seems to land on the Great Smoky Mountains poster and travel brochure Nathaniel had pinned up there when he was looking for a place to vacation in the spring.

“Oh, well, I was looking at heading to the mountains in April on a . . . umm . . . business venture. Some friends of mine from Stanford are doing great work out in Tennessee these days, and I was thinking about networking with them.” It was a lie, but Nathaniel hopes it will be able to appease his father. God forbid he ever say the word “vacation” around him.

“Hmm, sounds . . . interesting. I’ve not heard of any of your friends heading out to that area.” Before he could ask any further questions, Nathaniel interjected.

“Oh, it’s a . . . fairly recent move. When nature calls, you know?” Damnit, why did he say that? He clears his throat before speaking again. “Anyhow, I plan to take my personal days for that when the time comes. Is that alright with you, sir?”

“You know, Nathaniel, if you wanted to take a vacation, all you had to do was ask me.” Nathaniel’s eyes could have popped out of his head, and he stared at his father in disbelief.

“Oh. Well, father, I’m planning to take a vacation in April to the mountains. I’d really like to see what they look like, and—“ Nathaniel’s father held up his hand, signaling Nathaniel to stop talking.

“I said that you could ask me, not that I would accept.” The light dimmed from Nathaniel’s eyes, and he stared at his feet, anxiously rocking back and forth on his heels. “You are my son, but you are also my employee, Nathaniel. I can’t be giving preferential treatment to you; you understand, don’t you?”

This wasn’t fair. Nathaniel straightened his spine and faced his father, all shreds of doubt erased. He knew what he wanted, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, father. In that case, I’ll be taking that vacation a little earlier than planned, and this one is permanent.” Nathaniel grabbed his briefcase and other belongings from his desk, unpinning the map and poster of the Smokies before he threw the door open unceremoniously. His father stalked behind him, following him all the way to the elevator.

“Nathaniel Plimpton, you walk out of this office and—“

The elevator door has already slammed shut before he could hear what empty threat his father would make this time. On his way to the airport, he books the first flight in to Knoxville. Getting away is exactly what he needs right now.

* * *

Rebecca passes her training with flying colors; she’s a natural organizer and a people-person, so bartending suits her well, and Paula finds her opening up and relaxing more on the job in the following days.

One night, after the patrons clear out and Rebecca’s closing up for the night, Darryl overhears her singing to herself, some new tune from Carrie Underwood, he thinks. He listens more intently and discovers she has a stellar voice along with all her girlish charm. Darryl enters the common area, unbeknownst to Rebecca until he calls her name and she nearly breaks a glass.

“Oh Lord, Darryl, you scared me. What’s goin’ on? Did I miss anything in the back?”

“No, not at all, I just wanted to come out here and ask if that was you singin’ because, good Lord, girl, you’ve got one heck of a voice. Where’d you learn to sing like that?” Rebecca busies herself with putting glasses away and straightening up behind the counter; she sucks at taking compliments, really.

“Oh, I’ve just been singin’ my whole life. My momma always thought I was weird because I had a song for everything, and I mean _everything_. I once made up a song about how I definitely had friends, and they all came out and introduced themselves, but it turned out I only had about 5 friends, unless you count the janitor who lived in the trailer behind the playground, which makes 6. Mind you, I was 12, so some things have changed since then but not really. I’ve only got about 3 friends in this town: you, Paula, and this god-awful woman who about busted my left taillight the other night.” She pauses to take in Darryl’s stunned expression and suddenly finds herself embarrassed. “Wow, I’m so sorry, I’m rambling. I do that a lot.”

Darryl takes both her hands in his and smiles warmly. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’. We’re so lucky to have you around here, Rebecca. You’ve given so much new life to this place, and I wanna celebrate that. Which is why I would like to offer you a part-time gig as a singer here, on top of the bartending since you’re one of the best we’ve got.” Rebecca’s eyes light up, and she feels like she’s floating.

“Darryl, are you serious? I would love to sing here, that would be incredible!” She bounces with excitement from behind the counter, barely containing her composure in the wake of such an incredible opportunity.

“Now, we’ll have to find you some songs that aren’t about your lack of friends . . . no offense, though, it’s a very relatable tune. I’ll have to hear it some time. Oh, and we’ll have to dress you up too! I know where I could get you a swanky pair of boots that everyone will go crazy for. You’ll be like my rock star!”

At this point, it’s hard to tell who is more excited about this gig.

* * *

Paula and Rebecca are scheduled together as they usually do on Thursday evenings since it is Ladies’ Night at The Whitefeather after all. They’re (mostly) hard at work setting up the tables and chairs near the stage in between bouts of town gossip.

“Where do you even hear so much of this stuff, Paula?”

“Oh, honey, the church is flooded with it. Mrs. Hernandez is the source of everyone’s scoop; I haven’t even touched a newspaper in almost 10 years.” Rebecca looks up from the table she’s busy wiping down.

“I didn’t know you went to church, Paula. I mean, I don’t, but that’s good for you. But are they really full of gossip and stuff?” Paula drops the chair she’s carrying with a laugh.

“Honey, I’m a single mom of two boys; I need Jesus in my life. But no, they’re not all gossipy; it’s mostly just Mrs. Hernandez. Speakin’ of which, she told me about this Plimpton fella from California runnin’ around town. What do you make of him? I’ve seen him around; he’s handsome, for sure.”

Sure, she’s seen him. He passed her at the farmer’s market on Sunday afternoon, staring just a little too long at the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Rebecca gives an eye roll and turns back to her table.

“Handsome as the devil, sure. Might look pretty, but he sounds like nothin’ but trouble to me. I just know I want nothin’ to do with those piercin’ eyes and sweet talkin’ lips, that’s for sure.” Rebecca stares intently at the cherry wood as not to give away the smile threatening to creep onto her lips when she imagines those blue eyes staring back at her from across the room and those lips she could kiss all day if she tried and—

“Now, I barely know you, but I know you’re a sore liar, Bunch.”

Rebecca refuses to admit that Paula is right.

* * *

It’s a Thursday night, and Nathaniel has nothing better to do, he supposes, so he wanders into this establishment called The Whitefeather, which seems respectable enough, clean and well kept. He definitely doesn’t notice the brightly colored “Ladies’ Night” sign outside the door before coming inside.

Immediately, a crowd of overzealous blondes wearing practically the same shade of vixen red lipstick, stomach-baring tops, and too-short skirts swarms him. The attention, while enjoyable for his ego, is unnecessary, and he shoos them away to get a drink from the bar. Relieved to have escaped the frenzy at last, Nathaniel plops down at a barstool in front of a bartender with strangely familiar brown curls whose back is to him at the moment.

“Double whiskey neat, if you will, milady.” She turns around, and—holy shit. Neckline, that’s her. After a brief moment of processing, she recognizes him as well. “Well, what a remarkable twist of fate. Fancy seeing you here.”

“If it isn’t the infamous Mister Plimpton of California. Judging by that oh-so welcoming crowd by the front door, humbleness isn’t your strong suit, I can see.” Rebecca fixes his drink behind the counter, and he sighs dramatically.

“I swear, they think I’m Justin Bieber or something.” Rebecca almost snorts when she laughs at that comment.

“Not quite shrill enough to be Justin Bieber, but I see your point. Tell me, Nathaniel Plimpton, what the hell is a California hotshot like you doing in a small town like this?” Nathaniel is intrigued by her, most definitely her chest that’s basically on display for him, but something about her makes him not just flirty but competitive.

“Somehow, you know my name, and yet, I don’t have the pleasure of knowing yours, Miss—“

“Rebecca. Rebecca Bunch.”

“Rebecca.” He tries her name out on his tongue; he likes the way it rolls so casually. “Well, Rebecca, it’s truly an honor to make your acquaintance. I look forward to seeing you around.” Nathaniel starts to stand from his barstool, but Rebecca’s voice pulls him back.

“A word of advice, Mister Plimpton?” Nathaniel returns to his stool, and Rebecca leans over the bar, and he can’t help but take a peek at her gorgeous chest. “Listen, I haven’t been here too long myself either, but I know that around here, this town talks, and I know just what you’re all about. Breakin’ hearts and takin’ names is the aim of your game, so don’t think you can fool me with those pretty eyes and those big-city charms. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

“I sure hope you do, Miss Bunch, they’re actually quite pretty.”

She rolls her eyes but finds him staring straight at her, challenging her. For a long beat, they hold eye contact, neither one wanting to pull away first. Nathaniel licks his lips ever so slightly, and Rebecca swears she just saw her ovaries burst. The slamming of a glass on the bar breaks their heated exchange, and neither of them can form coherent words to describe what just happened.

* * *

Hours later, Nathaniel takes some leggy blonde to the dance floor, gives her a few twirls and maybe a kiss or two on the neck, and just like that, he’s on to the next one. He continues this pattern for quite some time, rotating between girls and drinks, though he never makes his way back to order from Rebecca. She would say she’s disappointed, but that would be a dead giveaway that she’s even the slightest bit attracted to him.

It doesn’t mean that he’s not seeking her attention, though. Nathaniel’s got girl number 4, a brunette for a change, and she’s laughing up a storm with him, but he can’t help but look past her to stare at Rebecca with a cheeky smile. She thinks she’s had enough of him until she catches him staring at her and waits until he has her undivided attention; finger-by-finger, she watches as Nathaniel licks the buffalo wing sauce off his hands. Is this some sick dream?

That’s the last straw for her. She wants to get back at him now, and she doesn’t want to make it easy for him. After upping the ante the way he just did, he essentially says that it’s Rebecca’s move, and she needs some help formulating a plan. Rebecca makes her way over to Paula on the other side of the bar, a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead.

“Hi honey, what’s up,” Paula smiles cheerfully but immediately changes her demeanor when she catches Rebecca’s. “What’s goin’ on? Everything okay over there?”

“I guess, I mean, I just . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about Nathaniel.” Paula groans quite audibly and sets down the glass she’s washing. With an expectant look and a hand on her hip, Paula begs her to continue. “I mean, you saw him when he came in here, girls hangin’ all over him. Disgusting. But it’s not even just that; he’s been makin’ sure I see him dancin’ with a girl or laughin’ like a hyena or lickin’ damn buffalo sauce off his fingers. He makes me . . . ugh!” Rebecca drops her head on the counter in frustration, and Paula stands next to her, trying not to smile.

“He’s teasin’ you, honey bun, ‘cause he likes you. Why else do you think he’s goin’ out of his way to do all that just to get a rise outta you? Somethin’ tells me you might think he’s cute too.” That makes Rebecca stand to her full height, a perfectly respectable 5’3”, and visibly cringe.

“Hell no! What an arrogant bastard, thinkin’ he can strut around here all high and mighty like he owns this joint? No, I can’t let him do that; I wanna show him who’s the boss around here.” A smirk plays at her lips, and she knows exactly what she has to do.

“That’s technically me, sweetie, but I fully support it. You go put that boy in his place; I’ll cover for ya over here.”

Rebecca practically bounces away and finds Darryl in the crowd. “Hey Darryl, can I ask you for a super huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s up, Rebecca?”

“So, I know I’m not supposed to sing until Saturday this week, which is fine and all, but I just found out that someone from back home is here tonight, and I was maybe hopin’ I could sing a song or two? I can come in early another day to make up for the lost time or—“

“Don’t sweat it, Rebecca,” Darryl interrupts happily. “Like I said before, it’s part time, but I don’t mind if you go up there, just as long as someone’s covering back there for you.” Rebecca nods with a smile and thanks him before heading to the small backstage area where the backup singers are warming up. Her plan was coming together.

Back out front, Nathaniel makes his way to the bar again and flirtatiously orders a beer, this time from a fiery redheaded woman who looks less than amused with his charms.

“Just so you know, Mister Plimpton, those charms may work on drunk, promiscuous girls, but they sure as hell ain’t workin’ on me. And if you even think of hurtin’ my Rebecca, you’re gonna deal with me, and I know we both don’t want that. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Wow, she’s intimidating, but he gets the message loud and clear. “I can promise you I’m not in the business of hurting Rebecca; I just wanted to have some good-hearted fun, you know? She seems wonderful.” He takes a drink of his beer as the lighting in the room changes to focus on the stage where 3 girls set up behind microphone stands and one is waiting at center stage for someone.

The audience claps and cheers waiting for the performer to come onto the stage, and Rebecca waits a few more seconds before stepping up to the microphone.

“What’s goin’ on, y’all? How’s everyone doin’ out there?”

 _Oh, shit,_ Nathaniel thinks. Paula catches a glimpse of his dumbfounded and also aroused reaction, and she can’t help but let a small laugh escape. He feels an overwhelming heat flood his body, and he can’t help but admire how comfortable Rebecca looks up there, not to mention how sexy she looks in a tight denim skirt and red cowboy boots.

Over all the hoots and hollers, Rebecca laughs, throwing her head back, basking in the spotlight, and introduces her song.

“For those of y’all who don’t know me, I’m Rebecca, and I’ve got a little song I wanna sing for y’all, is that okay?” More applause fills the room. “I’d like to dedicate this one to someone out there tonight who can best be described as a Cowboy Casanova. You know who you are. Hit it!”

The pounding opening rhythm of the drums fills the air, and the audience claps along with the beat. Rebecca slaps the rhythm on the side of her leg and scans the audience to find the man she dedicated her song to, and she finds him, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, leaning against the bar as Paula leaned over to tell him something.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, _partner_.” Rebecca winks at him before crossing to the opposite side of the stage.

“Hell yeah I am.”

The backup singers are vocalizing before the first verse, and Rebecca uses it to get the crowd engaged, keeping them clapping along. Despite his earlier attempts, Nathaniel can’t tear his eyes away from the stage, specifically the sexy woman gripping the microphone like something else he imagined she’d grip with the same simpering smile.

“You better take it from me, that boy is like a disease. You're running, you're trying, you're trying to hide and you're wondering why you can't get free . . .”

Nathaniel admits she has a really nice voice, and she knows how to work a crowd for sure. Rebecca builds to the first chorus but doesn’t sing as full as she can to leave room to belt some higher notes later on. Her eyes connect with a few men in the audience during the first chorus and gives them a flirty smile as she makes her way to the edge of the left-hand side of the stage where Girl No. 4 the brunette, as she is aptly titled in Rebecca’s mind, stood with a few of her girlfriends singing along with the popular Carrie Underwood tune. Rebecca sits and dangles her legs off the stage as if she were actually giving this girl the song’s word of advice.

“I see that look on your face; you ain't hearing what I say. So I'll say it again 'cause I been where you been and I know how it ends. You can't get away. Don't even look in his eyes; he'll tell you nothing but lies. And you wanna believe but you won't be deceived if you listen to me and take my advice . . .”

After the second chorus, Rebecca needs to take some definitive action and takes the microphone from the stand to stand on the staircase that descends onto the floor area. The spotlight is on her as she powers her way through the bridge.

“Run, run away, don't let him mess with your mind. He'll tell you anything you want to hear. He'll break your heart, it's just a matter of time, but just remember he's a good time cowboy Casanova leaning up against the record machine.” Rebecca descends the staircase and stops at the end to point directly at Nathaniel, and she charges for him with a step-touch and a pop of her hip that turns into a full-on power walk.

“Looks like a cool drink of water, but he's candy-coated misery.” She takes one hand and runs it down the front of his shirt. “He's the devil in disguise; a snake with blue eyes, and he only comes out at night. Gives you feelings that you don't want to fight, you better run for your life . . .” She has fun teasing Nathaniel as she grinds her body in all the right ways against him, and the audience gets a kick out of watching their interaction, whistling and cheering wildly for Rebecca. Nathaniel tries not to smirk at her eagerness to run her hands down his body and straddle him for the briefest of moments, though he is clearly enamored with her and lets himself enjoy the attention.

Rebecca struts back to the stage, swinging her hips and fluffing her hair on the way there, and she takes center to belt her last notes. The song finishes and the audience applauds loudly as she waves to the crowd and smiles brightly under the stage lights. As much as Nathaniel would to do bad things with and to her, he can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks and how happy she is standing up there singing.

“Thanks for lettin’ me come up here, y’all! Friendly reminder that it’s Ladies’ Night, so 2 for 1 beer all night long! And hey! Tip your bartenders; they do great work for ya! Y’all have a great night, folks!”

Rebecca makes her way off the stage breathing heavily but on an impossible high from how much fun she just had. Triumphantly, she makes her way back around the bar where Paula is waiting for her with a giddy smile and Nathaniel—well, his smile sends a rush of heat through her body, and he winks as he raises his beer to her before taking a long drink. _Mission accomplished_ , Rebecca thinks with a satisfied sigh.

* * *

After last call, Nathaniel wants nothing more than to crash into bed, surprisingly not already in the company of a woman. That song, those eyes, those lips, _her_. All night, Nathaniel couldn’t stop thinking of _her._ It’s not that the women at the bar weren’t attractive; it’s that she now consumes his thoughts and he can’t erase the arguably pleasant images she provokes in his mind. For someone so untouchable when it came to love, Nathaniel finds himself questioning everything he knows about it.

_She got to me. Rebecca Bunch got to me._

So, he waits under the lamppost outside the bar and casually leans against it staring at the stars. He never really can see stars in California past all the smog, but the air here is so clean and crisp, and it’s like he’s seeing the real world for the first time. It’s a little chilly to be standing outside for much longer, but Nathaniel doesn’t mind all that much. He just relaxes under the moonlight while he scans the area around him. But he’d deny it if anyone said he was waiting for her. He takes his phone from his pocket and nearly finds her social media to see who the hell she is and why she is so damn magnetic when a figure coming towards him pulls him from his task.

Of course, he recognizes those curls and curves from anywhere.

“Well, well. This is an interesting turn of events. What happened to all those blondes that were hangin’ on you earlier?” Rebecca steps into the light with a hand on her hip surveying his attitude, still a little cheeky but definitely less cocky than before.

“Blondes are boring,” he says casually. “And anyway, from my experience, I find brunettes have more fun.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “I’ll bet you’ve got a list longer than the Mississippi to prove it, huh?”

“What do you take me for, Rebecca, some kind of Casanova?” Wow, it takes her a second to realize how close they’re standing. Their breaths mingle with each other in the February sky, as it is just cold enough to see exactly how much space there is between them.

Amidst all of his womanizing arrogance, Rebecca sees a soul within those eyes, even if it’s just a glimpse of one. There is something deeper, almost like pain that lives behind his irises, and it almost makes him seem . . . human.

“Clearly you’re not doing your reputation any favors after the way you acted tonight. While I’d _love_ to take you for a roll in the hay, and I know you’d be good because why the hell wouldn’t you be—I mean you look like _that_ —“ she gestures specifically at his abs, ”but there’s no way in hell I’m gettin’ caught up in your game. I’d rather not set myself up for all that heartbreak when I find I’m just another notch in your bedpost.”

“I’m going to disagree with that last part, but you make a fair point. I may not know much about love, but I sure do know this. Rebecca Bunch, you are a little bundle of heartbreak just waiting to happen, but God help me, I still want you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, neither one knowing how to respond, until Rebecca makes the move and pulls him down to kiss her. Immediately, his hand tangles in her hair and finds the other around her waist, pulling her flush to him. She’s straining on the tops of her toes, but it feels so good, so right. She doesn’t want it to end.

Despite the heated exchange, Rebecca feels something deeper stir within her; there’s a feeling of warmth that she craves but also makes her sick because she knows exactly what happened the last time she felt this metaphorical glitter exploding inside of her. She breaks the kiss and leans against the solidness of his chest for fear she may collapse. The wind around them flushes both their cheeks a warm pink, and she looks into his eyes gauging his reaction. Stunned and aroused are the words that immediately come to mind.

While she’s determined to make this night just about sex, she knows her roommate Heather would kill her for bringing back a man without asking and subsequently waking her up from having too much loud sex; Heather would give her double if she woke up to find Nathaniel Plimpton in her bed. So that’s off the table for now, but it doesn’t stop Rebecca from keeping the invitation open.

Nathaniel still says nothing, but he feels everything. She’s so warm against him, and he savors the softness that is so inherently her. Her skin, her lips, her hair, her _heart_. It was only a kiss, but he’s never been kissed like that, so deeply, so warmly, so—

_No, no, no, this is just about sex._

“Wow. That was . . . uh . . . wow.” Rebecca laughs a little under her breath. Ironic that the man with all the right things to say is suddenly at a loss for words, isn’t it? She finds a napkin in her back pocket that’s been folded a few times over, and she slips it into Nathaniel’s palm, closing his fingers around it.

“Now, you come back and see me some time, ya hear?” Rebecca winks at him over her shoulder as she makes her way across the lot to her car. The gravel crunches beneath her bright red cowboy boots, and she walks away with a glow of satisfaction.

Nathaniel watches as she walks and takes the time to notice every detail about her, from the swing of her hips to the bounce of her hair. When he unfolds the napkin in his palm, he finds her phone number written on the inside and a seal of her lipstick in the top left corner. It’s tempting to text her immediately, but he thinks it better to wait until the initial reactions from tonight have subsided. So he waits . . .

He waits until Saturday night when he spots her coming down from the stage and back behind the bar again, this time orders a rum and Coke, and offers to buy her one this weekend. She accepts after last call with a heated, cherry red kiss on his lips.

“Pick me up at 8, Casanova.”

It’s a fun little nickname, but whether or not they admit it, they both know he’s much more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> I just would like to say thank you for sticking with me through this! I haven't written fanfic in literal years, so I'm starting to get my groove back. If you'd like to see anything specific, you can always prompt me in the comments or shoot me a message on Tumblr @itsme-ashley-marie (yes, those are meant to be hyphens, not underscores)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this little AU!


End file.
